My last post on the alternate futures explored the possibility of going into the advertising industry, if you remember. I also hinted that I wanted to do theatrical costuming, but was not sure of it as a feasible way to make a living.
After reading it again, I noticed that even while imagining other ways, another possible futures, I could not avoid compromising, straying away from the things I would want the most towards what I imagine to be more acceptable by society at large, dulling my inner yearnings to an extent that practically ensures boredom. Why is it that even in an imaginary world, where theoretically anything would be possible, I do divert from the things that would give me most pleasure? I cannot help but asking if they really would. Or is it rather that I want to believe they would but in fact I'm afraid they'll lose the magic they hold for me? Do they seem magical to me because of an inner call or solely because they are the opposite of what is familiar?
As a matter of fact, it
is very hard for me to imagine other possible outcomes than the one
which really took place. It is as if with all the ups and downs of
the life I really lived, it was the one and only possible way; on the
other hand, we know with a great degree of certainty that present
circumstances are shaped by previous decisions. Until recently, I
strongly believed that the only sensible development for my life was
the one that led me to this place; the wonderful scenery of the
Patagonian foothills, with their impressive and steep mountains and
green and red forests surrounding a big and icy lake, did a lot to
ease my Japan-nostalgia, I became -or so I felt- a much wholer being.
But now I am also beginning to question these assumptions in spite of
the fact that I can hardly picture myself in the long run in any
situation that might differ drastically from the one I consciously
lived. Maybe we are bound to see univocal realities.....
I wonder if
I had really enjoy a career in advertising the way I tried to sketch
it in the previous post. Would it be artistic enough for me? Would I
have been artistic enough for it? On a more personal level, would I
have married? Would I have had other children? It might seem odd to
mix those to levels, professional and personal fulfillment, but what
I now know for certain is that both are so much a part of me that it
would never suffice to attain perfection on any one of them if the
other were to be absent.
On the
personal, emotional level, I wanted my son very much to have a father
and siblings that shared their games with him, to have a family; the
men I had met until a few months I left for the South weren't much
into it. I hadn't met the right ones, obviously; but I wonder if I
would have seen the right man, even if he was standing right in front
of me, or if I would be able to meet him under different
circumstances.
It is
interesting to see how much I was then torn by the same tensions that
have been my steady companions: the longing for a quiet, simple life
on one hand, and the burning desire to produce something
outstandingly important, such as a piece of art or an insightful
essay -the medium didn't matter so much- on the other hand.... It is
as if I always were not one but many people all at once: a thinker,
an artist, a plain homemaker.... craving for attention but at the
same time shunning from it. How could any one of these get enough
hold of my being to make me able to choose a coherent path, follow it
and be content with the decision? When the summer air got thick with
the scent of wildflowers and resin and timber, when the fruit got
ripe in the trees, I longed for a natural, peasanty way of life; I
wanted to be a homemaker creating homemade preserves and cakes and
hand-sewn things for my home, I fantasized with hiking and
mountaineering -which, by the way, I never mastered. But after a
while leading this kind of life, being in charge of cooking, washing,
caring for the children and tending to the animals -2 dogs and some
chickens- I would get deeply annoyed and wretched by its plainness
and would begin looking for something to strain my brain; there was
nothing like the power of the flying mind to make me feel alive –
until it stuck against the ceiling, much like a butterfly analogy I
remember from a reading in my German class. And then it would all
begin again.... Two antagonistic forces, two natures constantly
colliding, none strong enough to prevail, not able to coexist unless
something bonds them, holds them together. Well, the search for that
kind of glue is precisely the point behind these convoluted
musings...
Regarding
marriage, I cannot picture me at all as having married in another
alternate life. I'm sure I would have had a couple of relationships,
some better and some not so good, maybe some outright bad, but I
doubt I would have ever committed myself to any one of them. It seems
to me that being able to express myself artistically and loving my
child would have been more than enough, or so I would have told
myself – thereby hiding the fact that deep inside I was utterly
afraid that any relationship I might devote myself to would
eventually hamper the flow of my creative energy.
Going back
to the story, let's suppose that I got it right for once and that I
didn't allow myself to be distracted from what I really wanted. What
was it? The costume workshop at the Teatro Colon in Buenos Aires
lured me. Wouldn't I be able to afford myself a little time to try
it? It is true that I had a son to support and that my mother wasn't
able to contribute much by way of money. But she was a loving mother
and she adored my child. I had a place to live on. How long would it
take to get a paid position at the workshop where I wanted to be?
Half a year? One year? Experience told me that positions within
government managed institutions -like the above mentioned theater-
tended to consolidate themselves after some time; these time spans
could range from a few weeks to about a year. Wouldn't I be able to
make do for a couple of months, let's say even half a year? Or a full
year? I doubt I could have spent a full year totally unpaid. But on
the other hand while performing unpaid for work I would be gathering
skills and opportunities to show them, no doubt there would be
chances for paid services, like, say, other people at other stages
needing help.
No doubt
that it wouldn't be easy. My mom would get very anxious, I know. I
would have to be extremely careful not to let her anxiousness draw on
me. I would have to be very strong to prevail in my decision. I would
have to be on guard against doubts -other people's and my own- that
might undermine my resolve. Well, could I be all that? Watching me in
real life this seems like a long shot. But then, the whole point of
this discourse is seeing what made me act as I acted and change it.
This one here looks as a very good starting point.
I had not
always been as fearful and insecure as I eventually got. When I
decided to leave for Japan, for instance, I knew my family and
especially my mother wouldn't take it easy; the same when some time
before I had decided to move alone. But I made both. And it felt
great. Liberating. So it seems that I was indeed able to master some
degree of resolve and bravery. What changed it? In hindsight, I think
that it began subtly while in Japan. Although I remember it as the
best time in my life, the one point in time I always wished I could
to go back to, it was not at all a rosy time. I wanted to fit in my
new society in a way I hadn't felt in my own country (where, by the
way, I never actually blended in). But I was at a loss regarding
social norms, counting exclusively on the patience of many. Funny, I
never saw it this way before; but watching me through the lenses of
today I can feel that without noticing I was slowly slipping in the
common pattern of adaptation, of trying to guess what was expected
from me and be that. Then, while I wanted to stay longer, again quite
practically I decided against my wishes and returned to my home
country. At that time it seemed like the only sensible decision; I
believe still that it was the healthier outcome. But I also see that
I have put some sort of blockade on that episode, repressing any
adverse feelings it might arise. Back at my former home I folded
again into the role of a sometimes nasty but otherwise obedient
daughter. Although I consciously denied it, I became wary of the
future; I became afraid of so many things: of not being able to
support myself and my little baby, of what other people might think
of me, of not being a good mother, of letting my little boy down, of
a myriad of tiny anguishes all centered around our future. I had
developed a Lebensangst that choked my spirits. And I barely
noticed.
